


Honey at Midnight

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Smut, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 00:25:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3629781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Finley Leach has a certain spirit on his mind, and Cole knows it. But he didn't think Cole would actually approach him about the dirty thoughts, much less at this hour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey at Midnight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sincerely_Harbinger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincerely_Harbinger/gifts).



> Captain Finley Leach is the OC of my lovely girlfriend, Sincerely_Harbinger, for whom I have written this shameless smut.  
> And for all my naughty night-readers, who deserve to have nice things like M/M Cole erotica.

                Cole hadn’t seen Captain Finley Leach since the new Templars arrived. They were a league of greenhorns, chuckling at mages, harassing the women, taking up as much room as possible, starting fights. Cole hated them all, but evidently not as much as Leach did.

                The Captain was renowned in the inner circle as a relentless asshole. He was in fact, more guilty of violence against mages, report-for-report, than any other Templar still alive. But more than that, he worked his men as close to death as possible, leaving them with only a few breaths left to drag their broken bodies to bed. There wasn’t a man or woman in the Inquisition who didn’t think he was a demon incarnate.

                Except Cole.

                “ _A mirror with two faces looking back, neither happy, scowling, weeping, bare fangs or blush_.” He seemed to come from nothing, suddenly behind Finley as he took his drink at the tavern. Cole rested his chin on the Templar’s shoulder before being shoved off, more out of shock than anything. “The mages lied for you,” he teased. “You never hurt any of them. You wanted the other Templars to see it was wrong.”

                Finley’s face burst into brilliant red, looking around paranoid for anybody who might have overheard. They all seemed either too drunk, too busy, or too distant. Good. “Do not think me soft, Demon! I would cleave your head from your shoulders if I did not suspect it would unleash your true form upon us!”

                “ _No_ you wouldn’t.” Cole grinned slyly and perched on a stool, his feet next to his thighs, knees up above his head. “You like me.”

                Leach bolted up, hand hovering over his sword, but panicked when it elicited no fear from Cole. He shivered. “T-t-ake that ba-ack!” Oh Maker no! He swallowed hard.

                The spirit reached over, fingertips brushing over the side of the man’s hip. Cole smiled, face shadowed by the wide brim of his hat. “ _Rolling away, out of grasp. I will be heard! Understand me, obey, but even the kitten mewls anyways, purrs, claws my leg. Good. A monster only to eyes, and by ears_?” Cole released a breathy chuckle. “It’s a handsome stutter. It’s honest.” The young man stood but inches from Finley, so close he could smell the honey he spilled on himself from sweetening Leliana’s wine.

                Captain Leach rushed from the Herald’s Rest, sweating profusely, fanning himself. Half of it was nerves. A being like Cole could read him so easily, run rampant in his mind. Cole must have known his every thought, every inch of desire, and every thread of weakness. Nervousness was _half_ the reason, yes.

                It was dark outside, but Leach took a moment on his way back to his own quarters to yell at some cadets, all of whom had been actively slacking by way of a card game. The Captain picked up a bucket of dirty washing-water. He doused their extra torches, doused them, and then he took their money, making every exaggeration to show them he intended to keep their ill-won gambling prizes. And yet, when they were gone, he dropped every single coin into the Chantry’s donation-box. Then he felt a warmth on his hips, two hands cupping his bony sides and pressing gently with thumb. “Unph!”

                “It hurts to walk so angrily, so why do you do it? Would they notice if Leach walked differently? It would make Finley feel better.” Cole pressed his face into the back of the Templar’s neck. Finley found himself arching back ever so slightly, watching his breath cloud above his head in thick, rhythmic puffs. Cole ran his hands up a little and held Finley steady. “You look cold. Do you like being cold?”

                “N-no!” He came to his senses and pulled himself from those warm hands, immediately wishing for their return. Leach brushed himself clean, though there was no dirt anywhere. “I’ll have you know I fully intended to go inside and thaw out before you so rudely interrupted! Hands to yourself, monster!”

                Cole smiled, his cheeks a little rosy. “What about my lips?”

                Finley fled again. He hurried up the stairs, mind ablaze with all the things he tried to suppress. Oh, but that haunting voice, calling out to him in the dark, offering comfort and more. Finley took a shuttering breath, shut his door, and leaned against the frame. He closed his eyes and faced towards the window. His chest felt filled and stretched, heart beating out of control, lungs quivering. “By the light of the Maker, that boy has a foul power over me,” Finley murmured.

                Confession banished nothing. His mind was still ablaze with wonderings about the young man’s long legs, graceful ankles. Rough fingertips on dexterous hands, perfect to choke with or caress. Eyes, always watching, so eager but not unwise, searching out his every vulnerable aspect and with cracked, thin lips speaking them into the air. A voice more haunting and permeating than the priestesses chanting at dawn. Finley clutched his vows in his mind, but the phantom scent of honey and wine fogged his resolve.

                “ _Twined wrists in the dark, a little pull, more pressing, breathe from the stomach and howl._ ” Finley’s eyes snapped open, but it was much too late. Cole was leaning next to him, his face hovering only a few inches away. He tried to move back, but the spirit followed. “ _Grinding back, inhale, intoxicating, heat on heat and purr, pant, groan. Animal for you, but you’re all there, tame and break in a good way, push it back. Finley, not Leach, knees bruised and tongue presented. ‘Have a treat’._ I know what you like to think about me, Finley.”

                “C-Cole, I… it’s n-no-not something I ca-an cont-trol!” He hit the back wall, fingers finding nothing but a warning of splinters. End of the line. Nowhere left to hide.

                The spirit came in close and pressed his body up flat against the Templar’s, looking at him with those discerning, blue eyes that made knees so weak, head so nearly empty. “Let me show you what _I_ think about you.” His hands slipped around, then fingers clenched greedily at Finley’s clothed thighs, just below tensed hindquarters. Cole pressed his chin against the Templar’s shoulder. The very tip of his tongue brushed ever so gently against the lobe of an already-hot ear. “I’ll catch you,” he shushed.

                So Finley gave in, flopping into Cole’s arms, his legs spread slightly and reveling in the sinful grip the spirit had on him. “How c-could you know? How could-d you kn-now I wanted th-this?!” His further query was interrupted by a little squeeze, and his own guttural grunt.

                Cole nuzzled the top of Finley’s head and helped him get to the mattress. How had Cole gotten inside so quickly? There were already candles lit! “I listened. It’s easy for me, listening.” He let out a small laugh. “ _So unhuman in this light, better, warm glow, health, and blue to get lost in, swathed, sheets tangled around me. Is he an angel? Feathers against the back of my head, fall from above, spinning, wearing too much_.” He leaned down and kissed Finley fully on the mouth, the slightly older man moaning into the capture. He broke with a nip, Cole knowing too-well every want that came to his companion’s mind. “I’m _just_ Cole,” he said, hands migrating to appreciate every toned line in Finley’s legs.

                “ _Just_?” Finley’s fingers trembled at his buttons. “You’re _Cole_. You aren’t _just_ anything. You’re…” The fingers exploring the back of his knee elicited a mindless roll of the eyes, and Finley had to whine his final word. “… _perfect_.”

                Cole helped undo the pesky buttons, running two fingers down the line of chest they had latched over. Finley pressed down into the mattress, allowing every moment of curiosity, every delight Cole’s hand created. Deadly, beautiful hands. Even when they snaked far too low, teasing through pants the maddening arousal that had been caused. Cole smiled and crawled up a little further, putting Finley’s hands on his pale waist. “Now you help me out of my clothes,” he said. The Templar very nearly ripped them from the sly man.

                “St-stop teasing!” Finley ground against the edge of Cole’s ass, then in horror of his forwardness blushed and covered his mouth to stifle a moan that would have woken all Skyhold. Cole only smiled more broadly and leaned down. His hat fell from his head and leaned against the side of the pillow. “C-Cole, I…”

                “I love your stutter,” he restated. With both hands he held Finley’s neck and pulled him into a kiss of passion. “I love your deeds.” Cole slithered back, between Finley’s legs. “I love your kindness.” He unbuckled the trousers, sliding the sweat-damp clothes off this Templar and onto the wooden floor. “ _I love you_.”

                “I love--!” Finley could not finish, but Cole knew. He heard it all, deep within and forefront both, echoing like a horn over a battlefield. He watched Finley writhe and heard his yells. The spirit continued to tease the precious entrance with his fingertips.

                Finley brought his knees up towards his chest, held them there, cried out to the point of weeping. “Maker! Maker yes!”

                “No, I’m _Cole_ ,” the spirit corrected, spanking in the lightest, most playful manner. To Finley it might as well have been hard and brutal. It answered the call of his lust and sent vibrations through his bones. “Those are _very dirty_ words to think about.”

                Finely felt his toes leave his control, curling and straightening. He was already a sticky mess, and not even quite ready yet. There was such an impossible weight below, like something molten stirring. “I’m sorry!” he heaved. “Oh, mercy of the Divine, I’m sorry but _yesssss_ oh Maker! Oh Cole, yes!”

                Cole drew his hand away slightly and Finley mewled desperately arching his back and grinding hard against the mattress and strewn blankets. The spirit cupped his chin, thumb forcing lips to part. He dipped in, a quill into ink. What a fine tongue. “You won’t be too tired for me, will you?”

                “B-blessed Andraste, I would f-fuck to my dying breath if you wi-wished it, Cole, but _please_!” He begged with his eyes. “Don’t l-leave me like th-this!”

                Cole smirked in the dark, candles flickering. “Alright, Finley. I’ll help.”


End file.
